


Your Possible Pasts

by foreverthyme



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Child Death, F/M, Gen, Incest, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 06:11:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverthyme/pseuds/foreverthyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We are not responsible for any deviations in your timeline, anything that you might see, and any of your actions after seeing whatever it is the book decides to show you.”</p>
<p>Seraphina settles a curiosity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Possible Pasts

i'm made of bones of the branches, the boughs, & the brow-beating light  
oh, my feet are the trunks & my head is the canopy high  
& my fingers extend to the leaves & the eaves and the bright  
brightest shine, it's my shine

(The Queen's Rebuke, The Decemberists)

 

Mother Nature waits and watches, sitting tall and resigned, as the vines of this foreign place curl around her.

“Here you are,” a blind girl who looks prepubescent, but is as old as Death itself (charming fellow, Mother Nature thinks placidly), says. The girl sets a very large, very heavy book down. The cover is worn and painted blue, adorned with something that looks gold but is much more ancient and much, much more expensive.

In a long forgotten script, it says “PASTS”.

Mother Nature reaches a long, clawed hand out and is stopped by the girl’s small, pink one. She recites from memory: “Before you begin your journey, remember that all that is seen in this book is false. You will observe things that have never happened in this universe, things that will never happen, and things that will always happen. We are not responsible for any deviations in your timeline, anything that you might see and any of your actions after seeing whatever it is the book decides to show you.”

Mother Nature nods. She is not here for a revelation; she is here because of a curiosity.

“Your name, Miss?” the girl, who is anything but, asks.

There is nothing in the book under ‘Mother Nature’, nor is there anything under any number of her ancient, unspeakable names. The earth spirit knows under which file she is recorded. “Pitchiner, Seraphina. P – I – N –“

She stops because the girl has already opened the book to her name. A constellation of stars crawl from the pages and find a home in the air over the tome.

“You may begin.”

Seraphina touches a star and closes her eyes...

**i.**

… and she is running, running faster than her tiny legs can take her. Her nightgown whips around her knees, her long dark hair flowing out behind her as she runs through her falling city. The prison has broken, she hears, the great General has fallen.

“Daddy,” she says. Had it been just a year ago that she had decided to shed such childish names? In a fit of rebellion, the same that all twelve year olds acquire at one point or another, a rejection of the news  of her father’s permanent post?

Now he’s gone, dead probably, and she’s alone. And the city’s under siege, everyone’s running, it’s all so confusing. And she’s crying, sobbing so hard she can’t see her feet, can’t see the debris about to crush her, and the next thing she knows, she’s so, so…

**ii.**

… dark, it’s dark, so dark in the room where Kozmotis Pitchiner lays, crumbled in a ball. He is wounded, bleeding out. If he doesn’t seek medical attention soon he will die, and he is afraid, so very afraid.

She is gathered in the corner, the small shape of the thing that used to be a girl. Her hair hangs dark and stringy over her face, her eyes shine yellow from behind strands and he thinks that it is smiling, or trying to. The Fearling Princess cannot quite get the expression down and her mouth is stretched from side to side like she is growling.

“Daddy,” she croons, taking a step forward. She limps and shimmies, nearly falls over herself. The thing that used to be his daughter – oh, his daughter, the girl that missed her father so much she snuck away to the prison to see him on the night it was all going to fall apart - walks like a puppet on strings.

“Let her go!” he shouts, but his voice is weak and his body is shredded so bad his mouth is raw from screaming. Stupid girl, stupid, stupid girl. Sneaks away in the night and falls for the fearlings first chance they get to take her away. “Let Seraphina go!”

The Fearling Princess laughs, tries to laugh. Darkness oozes from her mouth with every breath, leaks from her eyes and is caked on her ears. In a rasping voice, it says “Seraphina isn’t here right now. You can talk to me,” a pause, like it is thinking and then, “You can call me _Pitch_.” The name rolls off it’s tongue.

“Seraphina!” Kozmotis screams.

In a high-pitched, mimicking voice, it replies “Seraphina!” and raises the good General’s knife. “Sera-“

**iii.**

_-phina_ , the Moon whispers to her and she is so angry that a small earthquake erupts in Southeast Asia (there are no casualties, but a lot of people’s days are ruined). “Don’t you dare use that name,” she snaps. “You have no right to use that name.”

_You have no right to the boy_ , the Moon whispers. It is a blatant lie and they both know it. Jack is a child of winter, a son of Mother Nature in life and, now, in death. He floats upon the North wind now, sadness and confusion so strong that it is ten degrees cooler in a one mile radius around him.

“He is mine,” she whispers to the sky. “Find your new Guardian elsewhere.”

“Did someone say something?” Jack asks, wild and frenzied. He is so very scared, so very alone, so very new.

“I am here,” she says. “I am Mother Nature.”

“You can see me?” he manages to say, his voice cracking.

“Of course I can,” she tells the boy child. “I am your mother.” Seraphina looks to the moon. “And I will protect –“

**iv.**

… the children of the Earth,” Mother Nature says in an even, declaratory tone. “It is my job; after all, I am a Guardian.”

“That is so cool!” the little girl says, although in truth most of the words the nature spirit used to describe her current occupation went over her head. Then the girl gasps. “Does that mean you can make the flowers grow?”

Seraphina fights the ghost of a smile and presses her hand against the closest tree trunk. A vine covered in beautiful, exotic pink flowers descends, to the delight of the little girl. And Seraphina is happy to make the girl feel better, especially after finding out that Daddy’s going on a long vacation. Whether or not the girl fully understands the implications of her mother’s words, Seraphina does not know, but the Guardian can emphasize with a little girl who’s daddy…

**v.**

… wasn’t coming back any time soon, so I let the silly thing go. It’s an impossible job, to make them realize, but in truth, it is no real loss to me. I will always be here, whether or not this planet as they know it lives.”

Mother Nature sighs and sips her tea. Her father sits adjacent from her and shrugs. “You know, if you want, I can always send a little fear their way. Make them start picking up some of their slack.”

Mother Nature smiles. “Would that not be counterintuitive to your role as Guardian?”

Pitch chuckles darkly. “Although I am required to send the kids a bit of a thrill every now and then, or a warning to keep them safe, my activities are not restricted to Guardian-only duties.”

“Of course,” she says. “I do remember the Red Scare, you know.”

 Pitch smiles, flashing all of his sharp, yellowing teeth. “Which one?”

And his daughter laughs and says you really got McCarthy good, but what she’s really saying in the way she leans forward and the way she, very timid, averts her eyes from his is “I miss you and I never want you to leave again” and he describes some of the nightmares he gave the old senator, but what he really means in the over-enthusiastic tone of his voice and gentle touches her places on her shoulder from time to time is “I will never leave you again I am so sorry how could you ever forgive me”.

And he says “You know, you really should consider helping the Guardians out some time.”

And she says “What kind of neutral party would I be if I lent assistance to your fairytale superhero league?”

And he says “I love you, Seraphina.”

And she says …

**vi.**

… “I love you, Daddy.”

“I am no father to you.”

Seraphina stands to her full height over him. Moonlight streams through the broken ceiling, casting a magnificent shadow before her. Manny is watching. She doesn’t care.

“No,” she says after a long, deep sigh. “I suppose _you’re_ not.”

Pitch spits on her gown, dribbling black liquid and managing between violent coughs “You cannot kill fear.”

Seraphina kneels, moves into her ailing father, supports him as he vomits up his insides – a side effect of the poison that she laced her blade with, unfortunate but effective. “I cannot kill fear, you are correct.” She cocks her head and presses a long, clawed hand against his face (so like hers, she sees, high cheek bones and prominent brow). “But I can save my Daddy.”

In one swift movement, she slices his throat and watches as the blackness that overtook her father’s heart spills out before…

**vii.**

… him, he feels completely alone. The nursery is empty and, without his daughter, Kozmotis Pitchiner supposes that it will be for a very long time.

“Sir,” a lanky aid calls from the door way. Kozmotis turns slowly, his whole body seemingly weighed down by the grief. “She’s awake.”

In a hospital room his wife lays, a small and tired figured propped up by a mound of pillows. Her wild, brown hair is undone and the bags under her red eyes are darker than he’s ever seen them. And he thinks she is too pretty for such sorrow.

The aids and nurses, sensing the magnitude of the moment, leave the young couple. As soon as the last leaves the room, his young bride breaks out into a sob. “I’m so sorry,” she says, fat tears rolling down her red cheeks.

“My love, it is no fault of yours.” She chokes and turns away from him.

“I thought – I thought even if she were to be born weak…”

He is on the bed beside her.

“… that it wouldn’t matter because… “

Her hand is in his.

“… because we love her so much,” she finishes, leaning into her husband’s chest.

The good general was not a small man, all limbs and tall bones, and he curled around his petite and curved wife with ease (not so curved now, she’s so thin, how much weight had she lost?).

“I thought of a name,” she says. He does not reply, only holds her tighter. “I thought Seraphina.”

He breaks, quivering and whispers “It’s…

**viii.**

… beautiful, they call her, beautiful and dangerous and by all rights she should be, she is Mother Nature, is she not? And Mother Nature has a duty, one that she, until now, has taken in stride. After all, it is not without a little work that one becomes a mother.

“It is for the balance,” she tells herself, falling into the dark of Pitch’s domain. She sets off no traps or tricks, he has warded against her kind (in case of an untimely visit from the youngest guardian, no doubt) but she is so powerful that she is ignored with little more than a slight push.

“It is for the balance,” she tells him, shoulders back and hips set just so. And his eyes are on her, hungry in the way that all mature, living things are around her, sensing something inherent to her being as it is her duty.

“It is for the balance,” she tells the Moon. She knows that Manny is watching them, even though she and Pitch are not casting one magnificent shadow in the moonlight. He does his business in the dark and she is happy to oblige, his teeth trailing her neck and her hands are moving down her body.  She is the perfect female form, fertile and warm. No one can resist.

It’s not like he remembers her enough to resist anyway, any memory of his daughter is…

**iv.**

… long gone, I kicked him out this morning, that little wretch,” Seraphina’s friend, a beautiful blonde with nearly translucent skin says over another glass of champagne.

“Astrid, you would not have this problem if you just saw fit to settle down!” a magnificent girl with skin dark as night and the most expensive dress at the whole party chastises. She rolls back a shoulder, showing off the gown’s green accents. Seraphina knows that it’s her favorite part; she was there when the dress was bought.

Astrid huffs. “Well Calliope, sorry that not all of us have rich dads who arranged our marriage to a _gorgeous_ noble! Some of us have to find love all by ourselves! Right Seraphina?”

Seraphina makes a noncommittal noise.

“Exactly!” Astrid chirps. “Speaking of which – Sera, you’ve been so quiet! Any juicy news you want to share?”

Calliope places a manicured hand on Seraphina’s thin shoulder. “Famous star pilot like you shouldn’t have any trouble meeting men, hmm? I heard from a rather reliable source that you were seen with a young recruit last week. Anything you want to tell us?”

There is nothing that Seraphina wants to tell them. The incident was a friendly dinner, nothing else, and men are the last thing on her mind tonight.

Seraphina is like Astrid, without a wealthy father to give her away. Although Astrid’s father is simply too busy to arrange a marriage, Seraphina’s is tied up with an entirely different issue.

For this night is the 200th anniversary of Kozmotis Pitchiner’s death in the line of duty, saving the Golden Age and, more importantly, his daughter.

And she is the guest of honour here, but she feels so…

**v.**

… afraid for a split second, falling and cracking her head on a stair at age three. The funeral is beautiful.

Or falling ill in her seventh summer and they say, _oh so sad! Lost his wife and now his little girl, too!_

She could be ten and there’s a fire and she burns, or thirteen and found floating in a river. The good general comes back from assignment and the whole kingdom grieves.

Starves in a refugee winter at age fifteen, bleeds out for hours at age sixteen, murdered at age seventeen, no one notices another body laying at the edge of the road in these dark days.

Freezes, chokes, crushed, withers away, cursed, suicide, homicide, infanticide –

All prevent her from getting to where she is…

**vi.**

… going to be a new start, Sera tells herself. New city, new apartment, new job – it’ll be great, and she can forget that stupid loser who broke her heart (and knocked up her ex-bff) for good.

She sits at a park bench on a cold November day, but the sun is shining bright and she’s never felt more _(human, mortal)_ alive. Tomorrow she starts her new part-time job as a Starbucks barista (to replace her old part-time job as a Starbucks barista, just in a different city) while she looks for work doing what she really loves. She’s sent in a few applications to botany institutes and museums and schools and zoos or really, whoever might be interested in her skillset and Bachelor’s degree.

Sera sighs peacefully, stretches out on the bench and skips songs on her iPod until she finds one that she really loves. It’s an old Pink Floyd song that her dad used to sing to her (although quite frankly, the lyrics are kind of fucked for a kid). Before he died in ’06, she asked him about it and he told her that he would sing it because it pissed her mom off _(“She’s a Gilmour fan, honey,” he says with a smile and from the kitchen she can hear her mother yell “The Final Cut is just a glorified Roger Waters solo album!”)_. Thinking about that makes any fears she has about her new life disappear.

It’s all going to be…

**vii.**

… dead, her planet is dead. There is nothing left but the ruins of an atomic age scar. She is the queen of a desolate, nuclear wasteland.

“It’s just me and you, Manny,” she whispers. There is no response. The Guardians are gone, Pitch is gone, and she wouldn’t be surprised if Manny made the break for it as well. There are thousands of planets out there with children and wonder and memories, hope, fun, fear. Thousands of moons.

There are organisms deep within the soil of her dead planet, alive and thriving. She can’t wait to see what beautiful things grow here – the colours, the animals.

It will take a millennia, but Seraphina Pitchiner has waited longer for much, much less.

**viii.**

Mother Nature steps away from the book and opens her eyes. The young fate is there, waiting patiently. “Is your visit complete?” she asks.

Mother Nature nods.

The girl makes a face that looks almost like a smile, but is missing the emotion behind it. “Thank you for visiting. Please leave a donation at the door and remember that we are not responsible for anything that you might have just seen.”

Mother Nature nods again, leaves a few precious gems at the door and finds herself walking through a forest somewhere in the United States. The moon is high and the North wind tells her that she is in Burgess, that Jack Frost is nearby and that the earth spirit might want to leave soon if she does not want to be assaulted by the young Guardian. Mother Nature thanks the wind, always such a considerate fellow, but whispers that she will stay in Burgess for a few minutes more.

There is a shadow behind her and Mother Nature says “Hello, father.”

Pitch says nothing. She senses that he is still too weak since his last run in with the Guardians. And, in truth, she does not know if he remembers her.

“Yes,” she says, “It is better this way.”

She is entirely unsure if she means it.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> hi i wrote this like a month ago bc i really like mother nature and i wanted to play with her but i didnt quite know how!  
> so this gave me the ability to do whatever and it was just sitting in my documents and i thought why not!  
> it might make somebody whos interested happy and whats the harm in posting it!  
> anyway i hope that you guys enjoyed it!


End file.
